Page 4 of Raised By Wolves

Chester reaches way back to grade school memories, when he earned the alphabet in sign language. He spells out slowly, letter by letter, “Can you understand me?”

Both kids just glare at him. He drops his hand. All righty then. No ASL.

“I’ve got a few things to say before we start driving,” Chester says, more for his sense of duty than for them at this point. “So I’m hoping there’s some part of you that understands it. You two are in a little spot of trouble right now. Because here in Kokanee Creek, we don’t smash doors. We don’t eat things we haven’t paid for. And we definitely don’t bite officers of the law.”

He still can’t see a flicker of understanding cross their faces.

He turns on the car.

“We’re going to take a little ride now,” he says. “Try to keep calm. You’re doing good right now. Real good.”

When the engine revs, the boy starts to whimper again. And when Chester pulls out of the parking lot onto the highway leading into town, the whimpering gets louder.

“It’s okay,” he says over his shoulder. “We’re just heading over to the station.”

As the cruiser picks up speed, the kids look more and more freaked out. They start bouncing around a little. Chester can see the boy sweating in the rearview mirror, so he rolls down the window a crack. The boy lifts his face to the breeze, his nose twitching.

Chester thinks,Theymustbe on drugs. What kind, though?

It’s just a short drive into town. They pass the abandoned lumber yard, then the Wendy’s billboard.LATE NIGHT GREAT NIGHT, it reads.TURN LEFT AT THE LIGHT.

The boy makes a noise that almost sounds like a word.

Chester turns and says, “Did you just speak?”

No answer.

“You two still hungry? You wish I could take you to Wendy’s?”

There’s silence for another second. And then the boy throws back his head and howls so loud that Chester’s ears ring.

CHAPTER 4

THE KOKANEE CREEK police station occupies half a small brick building in the center of town; the other half houses the public library. Across the street there’s a hair salon and a pub; down the block there’s a cafe, an antiques store, a kayak rental place, two churches, and the Dollar General.

In other words, the town of Kokanee Creek isn’t much more than a wide spot in the road.

Chester helps the girl out of the car and escorts her into the station, while Randall takes the boy. Pearl Riley’s on dispatch, and her eyes go wide when she sees those rough-looking kids. “Are they from the Grizzly?” she gasps.

“Call Lacey,” Chester tells her. “Have her bring food.”

He turns to Randall. “I don’t know if theycan’ttell us who they are, or if theywon’t, so we’re going to have to figure it out for ourselves. See if anyone’s reported missing kids. Runaways, maybe. Start with Washington, Oregon, Montana, Wyoming, Idaho—but go wide. They could be from anywhere. Call Dr. Meyer, too. We’re going to need physicals.Drug tests.” He runs his hand through his graying hair. “We got any extra socks lying around?” he asks Pearl. “If not, see if Lacey can find some.”

Chester takes the girl by the elbow and maneuvers her over to fingerprinting. As he raises her cuffed hands to the ink pad, he takes in how hard and calloused they are. She’s got the palms of a weatherbeaten rancher. “Don’t worry,” he says gently, before pushing her thumb into the ink pad. “It’s just for identification purposes.”

She holds herself perfectly still and silent the whole time. So does the boy, for all ten fingers, but he pants audibly.

“You’re doing good,” he says to the kids. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

The boy gives a little whimper. His ferocity’s all gone. His thin shoulders slump.

“We’re going to need to keep you here for a little bit,” Chester goes on. “Till we figure out where you belong and find whoever’s looking for you.”

“If them two were mine, I’d say good riddance,” Randall mumbles.

Chester glares at him before turning back to the kids. “I hope you can continue to stay calm, because it’ll be a lot more pleasant for all of us that way.” The girl glances nervously at the jail cells with their peeling paint, their old-fashioned bars and locks. “Yep,” he confirms. “That’s where we’ve got to put you for now.”

As they approach the first cell, a figure calls out from one of the concrete beds.

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